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Love is a fickle thing traded by fools, but lust is exactly that—no promises. It’s as hungry as any starving creature but honest in what it wants.
And I want him.
“No promises,” I answer and I kiss his open mouth.
Underneath me, Cyrus shudders, hands flexing at my waist, loosening the blouse from my skirt band. I could climb off, leave him cold, but what would be the point? We’d get back here eventually.
One kiss after the ball is a mistake. Two is a challenge. Any more is habit.
Freeing my braid, he buries his fingers in the twists, making a mess of it. “Violet,” he rasps, no humor left. I like the sound of my name on his lips too much.
He undoes the buttons and strings of my clothes with ease as I fumble with those on his—how many times has he done this before? I pull his shirt over his head, and he’s so fit underneath it makes me angry. He gets impatient with my chemise and starts pushing it over my hips, the seams stretching from his carelessness.
Camilla’s bedded plenty of girls; she’s told me about some of it and I know generally how it escalates. How it happens faster than you think the first time, how you have to be more careful with boys. I know what we’re doing is stupid, reckless, a reckoning waiting to happen. But I want to know—
His hands slide under my chemise. I should stop him now. We’re going too far, and I won’t stop him later evenif I want to. I curse my pride. I curse my shaking knees as I move into his touch, biting back gasps. I curse him most of all.
“Want more?” The question comes out a breathy plead as Cyrus shifts, rolling me over so I’m between him and cushions.
Yes,I mouth, head flung back.Yes. Yes. Yes.
A knock on the door, just as his fingers find the spot that makes me crumple to him. I’m never more thankful the room is soundproof.
A second knock. It seems so far away that it can’t be real. My bare legs wrap around him. My body is at the edge of breaking.
Then comes Dante’s voice like a drench of ice water: “Violet? You there?”
“Oh, toadyhell,” I gasp, sitting up. Cyrus tumbles off me, tangled in his trousers.
There’s a third and fourth and fifth knock in quick succession—the polite but pointedly impatient warnings of someone about to check inside. I pull my chemise down and search for my blouse among the toppled cushions, a thunderous heartbeat in my ears. Cyrus stares at the doorway, panting and flushed. Most of his blood probably isn’t in his head right now, but that doesn’t soften my pitch as I hurl his shirt in his face.
“Hurry up,” I hiss. “I didn’t lock the door. He’s going to open it if I don’t answer.”
“Why wouldn’t you lock—”
“You distracted me!” Hauling my skirts up, I pinch themaround my waist; I don’t have time to do the buttons. “You could plan to pose for an hour waiting to seduce me but you couldn’t plan for this?”
Legs wobbly, I stomp over to the entryway as Cyrus mutters, “It wastwenty minutes.”
The door cracks open as I grab the knob.
“Vi—?”
I stop the door from opening farther. I jut my face out, the rest of my body hidden. “Hi. I was about to take abath.”And I’m breathless because I had to run downstairs, not because I was underneath your best friend,I don’t say.
Dante looks away, flustered. His arms are full of notebooks and loose papers. “Ah, sorry, there are a few wedding-day precautions we need your opinion on, but…Later is fine. Sorry! I’ll come back.”
“I can meet you in the gardens or the library in a little while instead?” I suggest. Unless Cyrus wants to sneak out via defenestration.
There’s a scuffle of movement behind me, too soft to be heard outside I think, until Dante frowns and turns slowly toward me. “Er, is someone there?”
I stiffen. “No.”
“Did you know that when you lie, you have a tell?”
“What?” I make a face. I have to stop doing that. “No,I—”
“Having someone over is nothing to be ashamed about,” he says with a short laugh. His expression freezes, a thought blooming. “Unless it’s—”
